Life, the Universe and Sherlock
by Superpicklechops
Summary: Fourteen year old John Watson has just started at another new school. He has a tumultuous home life and is not so popular as the new kid. That is until he meets a certain curly-haired boy who helps him get through his teenage years. Teenlock! No Slash (Well... I'll try) Rated T for some bullying and a few swearwords. Warnings inside.
1. The Mop

Fourteen year old John Watson sat alone in the cafeteria, keeping his head down in his book- 'Life, the Universe and Everything' by Douglas Adams. He wasn't too keen on this new school. Well, the school wasn't bad, St Bart's was meant to be the 5th best school in the city. It was the kids he wasn't keen on; they were rough and John was new. He'd moved school three times before and knew that the first day was usually the worst. _Get through the first day and you'll be fine, _John thought. So far the day had been uneventful, but John had had his guard up all day. Now he was engrossed in his book: Arthur Dent and Ford Prefect were chasing a sofa across a field. John was relaxed until he felt a hand clap on his shoulder and his book was yanked out of his hands. John stood up abruptly in a small surge of rage, facing the taller boy that was smirking in front of him.

"Give me my book back please."

John recognised the boy from his English class earlier. _Anderson, that's what the teacher had said in the register. _John recognised him as one of the boys who had sniggered when John was introduced to the class. He was currently stood with three of his mates, who had also laughed. John's anger rose slightly as Anderson smirked and held the book above his head.

"You want it back? You're going to have to try and reach it!"

John looked up at Anderson's sneering face. He was a head taller than John; he knew he wouldn't be able to reach. John glared up at the boy.

"Can I have my book back please?"

John spoke calmly and softly but his voice quivered.

"Ooh, is little Jonny getting upset that we stole his booky wooky? I bet it's his only friend! That's why he had to move school, they didn't want him anymore, he was a waste of space!"

Anderson and his friends laughed as John's face went red and his head sunk lower. John stepped towards Anderson and attempted to reach for the book but it was lifted higher; John stood on tiptoes while the other boys laughed. A crowd had gathered around the commotion and it felt like the whole cafeteria was laughing. John felt humiliated, but he didn't want to let this stupid boy win. He jumped and managed to grab the book, pulling Anderson's arm down with it. He gripped the bully's arm and twisted it; Anderson let out a scream and released his grip on the book as John yanked it free. John was almost grinning at his success until he felt his arms being roughly pulled backwards. Two of Anderson's mates held his arms back as the bully stood up straight, rubbing his arm. The boy's face turned to a sinister sneer as John's turned to panic.

"You're gonna pay for that you little shit…"

John swallowed and tensed up as Anderson approached, prepared for the blow.

A loud voice bellowed across the hall:

"What's going on here?"

John felt his arms be released as he and Anderson looked around for the owner of the voice. He wasn't hard to miss; a tall, well-built man made his way through the crowd of children and stopped directly in front of John and the others.

"I said, what is going on here?"

John looked over at Anderson who had his head down, looking at the teacher's shoes. John cleared his throat.

"Um… well I was just…"

John caught Anderson glare up at him in the corner of his eye and saw Anderson's friends crack their knuckles menacingly.

"I was just, we were… just messing around a bit sir. Having a joke."

John looked down, ashamed that he had lied. He couldn't risk telling the truth in front of Anderson, he would end up dead by the end of his first day. The teacher nodded, although his face showed that he didn't truly believe John's story.

"Very well. As long as it was just a joke."

With that, the teacher looked sternly at Anderson who nodded rapidly.

"Yeah it was sir. Promise."

The teacher didn't look impressed but nodded curtly and turned to walk away, however he stopped and looked back at John with a concerned glance.

"If you need anything lad, my office is in C-block. I'm Mr Sholto by the way." The teacher said with a hinting look in his eye. John nodded at Mr Sholto and the large teacher walked away. As soon as he was out of sight, Anderson turned square to John's face. His fist grabbed a handful of John's shirt and the smaller boy backed up until his legs hit the table behind him.

"You tell anyone and you're dead, understand?"

John nodded. Anderson released his shirt and walked out of the cafeteria with his friends, the crowd had dispersed when Mr Sholto arrived so John was alone again. _Great start to a new school. Already have my own private band of bullies… _John thought. He sighed, picked up his dishevelled book off the floor, packed his lunch in his bag and headed off to D-block. Biology. At least that was something to look forward to.

The next day, the morning went without a hitch, although John was almost blamed for throwing a paper aeroplane at the teacher's head in maths. He was let off, thanks to… Well, he wasn't really sure who. A mysterious low voice had piped up from the back of the classroom.

"It wasn't the small neglected blonde kid, it was Donovan. The ink smudges on her right hand match the ones on the paper aeroplane. Obvious."

The teacher looked incredulous but the teacher checked nevertheless and the mysterious boy was proved right. The whole class tutted and sighed, so John guessed that this must happen a lot. John's seat at the front of the class was too far away to see who the boy was, so he tried his luck at the end of the lesson. John craned his neck to see around the kids flocking out into the corridor for lunch but could only catch a glimpse of a mop of curly black hair swooping out of the classroom. John was curious and intrigued. _How had the boy known all that? _John walked through the corridor, peering over the other kids' heads to make sure he could still see the curly mop to follow. John wasn't just curious, he wanted to say thanks as well, and also find out how the boy was so clever and why he was so mysterious. The mop turned left out of the block and onto the field; John followed quickly and just caught the boy gliding around the corner of the fence, along the nature trail. John had heard that the nature trail went around the outsides of the fields at the back of the school. _Was the boy just going for a walk? _John peeked round the fence and stopped suddenly, as he saw the mop had stopped. He was talking in hushed tones to a group of older lads leaning against the fence smoking. One of the lads passed him something; the boy nodded thanks and continued along the trail. John waited a moment before following, keeping his head down as he passed the group of lads. John had only had his head down a moment but when he lifted it, the mop of curly hair had gone. John stopped in the corner of the field and looked around. He could see all the way back to the curve in the fence where the lads were smoking- the boy couldn't have gone that way, he would have had to have passed John. He could also see round the rest of the field up to the next corner- even if the mop had sprinted he couldn't have made it in that time. John Watson stood puzzled. A weird thought came to him that the boy was a ghost but he quickly dismissed it in favour of rational logic. _There must be a secret path or something. _John continued slowly along the trail, looking down at the floor by the trees on his left until he saw something: A thin slab of concrete lay next to the path. John stepped onto it and saw amongst the bushes some more concrete. _Steps. _They led down the embankment, through the trees. It was very well hidden; John wouldn't have seen it had he not been looking for it. He stooped to avoid the branches and steadily made his way down the steps and into a clearing. John was shocked at what was hidden there. A large pond filled the clearing in the shape of the number 8. It had a quaint wooden bridge propped over the middle and reeds and flowers sprung up around the edges. A wooden bench sat on the right of the pond as the sun poked through the gaps in the trees. John felt like he had just arrived in Narnia! No-one knew about this place, except him and the boy. _The boy._ John regained his senses and looked around the picturesque scene for the mop of dark curls. He quickly spotted them crouched by the opposite side of the pond, frozen looking into the water- the boy wasn't moving an inch. John stepped forward hesitantly and cleared his throat softly; still the boy remained motionless.

"Excuse me, I hope I'm not interrupting."

John spoke mildly. The curly haired boy stayed statue-like by the side of the pond. John would have sworn he was a statue until he spoke.

"Yes, you are interrupting."

John blushed red.

"Oh I'm sorry to bother you. I'll just…"

John turned to go but stopped when the statue stood up straight and looked at him with bright blue eyes.

"I'm done now. Do you have a net?"

John stood puzzled as the boy looked expectantly at him. He hadn't really noticed what the mop had said, instead John was trying to work out why the boy was wearing a thick winter coat on such a warm day. John was shook out of his wonder when the taller boy moved across the bridge.

"I said do you have a net? I need to examine a specimen I found in the pond but I don't have anything to catch it with. Newts can be fairly fast and if you don't handle them correctly then they could die and they are an endangered species, particularly the Great Crested Newt- Triturus Cristatus- so I wouldn't want to kill any, do you have a net then?"

The boy seemed to speak in one breath and it took John a moment to work out what was said.

"Uh, no I don't sorry."

The other boy tutted.

"Pity. May I borrow your blazer?"

John nodded absent minded and passed his blazer over to the strange boy. He was still enthralled at the speed that the boy had reeled the information off.

"Wait… Hey! What are you doing?!"

John looked up to see the boy dipping his blazer in the pond. He rushed across the bridge and crouched down next to the boy.

"What are you doing? I only got this blazer yesterday! Mum'll kill me!"

The other boy didn't stir.

"I'm catching newts, didn't you listen? Plus, your mum won't kill you. She'll be fine and wash it for you, if I were you I'd worry about what your dad will say when he gets in, unless of course he's distracted by your drunk older sister in which case you'll be off the hook. You can hope."

John stared at the boy with his mouth wide open in shock. The mop continued swirling the blazer through the water and spoke without looking up once at John.

"We're not catching flies John, we're catching newts you can close your mouth now."

The boy spoke without expression yet his voice was strangely endearing.

"H… How did… you know all that? How did you know my name?!"

Despite the boy's advice, John's mouth still hung open.

"I paid attention. Your school clothes are new and half ironed, suggesting that your mother started the ironing but didn't quite finish- so she cares about you enough to spend time ironing your clothes but something more important came up to cause her to abandon the ironing, probably an issue with an older sibling- your sister based on the hand me down backpack. So, what could your older sister do that would cause your mother to abandon her ironing? Something quite bad but not something that hasn't happened before otherwise she would have left the iron on top of the clothes in a rush and burnt them. Your sister had come home drunk before. Drunk? Of course, you have her old backpack, the straps are wearing at the top from being pulled downwards by the heavy objects placed in the bag- books aren't heavy enough to do that so most likely it was caused by glass bottles, alcohol. The only person who would carry alcohol in a school backpack must be alcoholic. Where does your sister get the alcohol from? Your mum is too caring to leave any laying around the house so it must be your dad then, so your dad leaves alcohol around the house meaning he doesn't really care about his children's welfare and therefore I'd be more worried about what he'll say when he finds out he has to spend £30 of his booze money on a blazer for you."

John stood still, gobsmacked. The boy continued to use the blazer as a net while John stumbled across to the bench, letting his brain register what was just said. After a few minutes of silence, save the swirling of water, John's mouth moved into gear.

"That was… incredible."

The curly haired boy looked up from the water with a puzzled expression. It was clearly an expression his face didn't seem to agree with as it cause his face to screw up- he didn't wear it often.

"Really?"

John nodded as the taller boy sat down beside him on the bench.

"Honestly, I've never seen… heard anything like it. It was bloody brilliant!"

John's eyes were lit up as he looked over at the boy. The boy's puzzled look had turned back into his blasé straight face.

"Well… thank you John."

The boy smiled, John frowned.

"How do you know I'm called John?"

He smiled expectantly, hoping for another spectacular answer. The other boy smiled softly.

"It's written in your blazer."

John couldn't help but giggle as the other boy smiled cheekily at him.

"What's your name then anyway? I haven't got your blazer to hand."

Curly mop haired boy smiled.

"Sherlock Holmes."

John outstretched his hand.

"Nice to meet you, Sherlock Holmes."

Sherlock took his hand and shook it, then stood up immediately and turned his coat collar up against the non-existent wind.

"It's the end of lunch. I'll have to catch the newt tomorrow. Remember to bring a net John."

Sherlock spoke as he strode across the bridge with John jogging behind.

"Why do I have to bring a net? Who even says I want to come here tomorrow?"

John asked the questions as a matter of defiance but he really did want to go there again tomorrow, he just didn't want to be told what to do. Sherlock grinned as he walked back along the trail towards the school. John Watson would be there tomorrow, he was sure. What he wasn't sure of was why he was feeling happy about it. _Sherlock Holmes was feeling compassion, cue the end of the world, _he thought. Sherlock turned his thoughts away from his feelings.

"Race you to PE?"

With that, Sherlock took off running along the path as John tore up behind him, laughing for the first time in weeks.


	2. Shoulders and Eyeballs

**WARNING: This chapter contains domestic violence and swearing, and a bit of bullying. Sorry.**

"Mum, I'm home."

John dumped his bag at the foot of the stairs and walked through to the kitchen.

"Harry, why do you always do this to me? What do you expect me to do when you come home pissed in the middle of the day?!"

"I'm not drunk…"

John sighed, hearing the familiar voice of his drunk older sister. He walked into the room and made his way to the fridge as Harriet and mum continued to shout.

"I can smell the alcohol on your breath! Don't you dare lie to me!"

John pulled out two slices of bread and some jam, making himself a jam sandwich. He may have well been invisible based on how much notice his family was taking of him. They hadn't even realised he'd walked in the room.

"I'm not drunk. Ask Dave, I only had lemonade."

"That's bollocks, you don't think I'm…"

The shouting became more muted as John left the kitchen and made his way upstairs to his bedroom. He closed his door behind him and flopped onto his unmade bed, munching on his sandwich. _Of course Harry is drunk. When is she ever not drunk? Lucky dad's not home yet, he'd kill her. _John thought. He finished his sandwich and began writing his English essay, which was boring but better than trying to hear the TV over the shouting. He'd got halfway through when he heard the front door slam and heavy footsteps walk through the hall. _Dad's home. _John put his pen down and listened, hearing the muffled low tones of his father and the quieter voice of his mum. John expected shouting but none came. He breathed a sigh of relief; _maybe dad's in a good mood. _John hoped for a miracle and made his way downstairs and into the kitchen. He could see his mum had been crying, Harry had gone and his dad had moved into the living room.

"Everything ok?" John asked softly.

"Ah John, when did you get in?"

His mum rubbed her eyes in an attempt to hide her tears from her boy.

"I got in half an hour ago. Mum, I was wondering whether we have a net? Like, in the shed or…"

John's mum interrupted, distracted from the conversation.

"Be a good lad and empty the bin for me."

John moved over to the bin and pulled the bin bag out.

"So, do you think we have…?"

John tries asking again, he didn't want to let Sherlock down but his mum just nodded absently, muttering a distant "mmh, yeh." John took this as all the permission he needed; after he'd dealt with the bin and managed to climb over all the old garden tools in the shed, John finally managed to grab the net and walked back into the house with it. He closed the back door softly but as he turned he bumped straight into his father, knocking the man's beer onto his shirt.

"Sorry…" John mumbled with his head down. His dad had stopped and was staring down at his son.

"Clumsy little bugger. You made me spill beer on my shirt."

His dad's voice was deep and menacing. John gulped.

"Sorry dad…"

John dropped the net as his right arm was grabbed and twisted up behind his back. John yelped as the muscle in his shoulder tore and burned- it had already been damaged by his dad before.

"Too right you're sorry boy!"

John's dad was twisting his arm up his back further, causing the boy to cry out in pain.

"What are you doing? Get off him Richard!"

John's mum rushed into the room and started grabbing at the man's arms as John struggled free, just in time to see his dad turn and slap his mum right across the cheek.

"Bitch."

John's mum stood slumped against the counter with her head in her arms as his dad stood stoic, breathing heavily. The man turned to John and hit him across the back of the head, causing the boy the stumble forward.

"Fucking idiots, all of you…"

His dad left the room and slouched back down on the sofa. John clutched his arm and pinned it to his side as he stood beside his mum.

"You okay mum?"

The woman stood up straight, a bright red mark clearly visible on her cheek.

"I'm fine John. Is your arm ok?"

She spoke in hushed tones so she wouldn't alert John's dad.

"It's no worse than it was last time."

John tried rotating it but winced at the shooting pain; his mum produced a well-used sling from the cupboard and strapped it round his arm. Her face stopped directly in front of his and she whispered with a scared look in her eyes, a look which John hated.

"If anyone asks, you did this playing rugby, ok?"

John nodded and walked silently to his room. He shut the door softly and fell onto his bed as tears sprung to his eyes. _How dare his father treat him like this? How dare he treat his mum like that? Why should they have to live in fear? _John buried his face in his pillow and cried until the pillow was soaked, he cried until his eyes were tired and he cried until his eyes closed, and let him drift off into a peaceful, safe sleep.

The next day, John walked into registration with a frown on his face. His arm was still in a sling, his blazer still had some pond weed stuck to it and his eyes had bags under them from lack of sleep. He'd been woken up by his mum and dad, screaming and shouting downstairs. John slumped into his seat and rested his chin on his non-injured arm as his form tutor, Mrs Hudson took the register. The class was rowdy as ever; a group of girls were laughing hysterically at something in the corner and Anderson and his mates seemed to be sniggering at John. _They're probably plotting my death _John thought glumly. The smaller boy tuned out his surroundings and stared straight ahead, letting his mind wander. He wondered what form Sherlock was in, they were in the same year group. So far he'd only shared his Maths, PE and biology lessons with Sherlock but then again he hadn't even had some lessons at all yet. John was wondering what Sherlock might be like in a drama lesson and smiled to himself but was shook out of his trance by Mrs Hudson's voice.

"Class dismissed, John could you stay behind a second? You're not in trouble honey."

Mrs Hudson smiled and John remained seated, looking down at his desk as Anderson and his mates passed, taking turns to elbow John's head as they went by. Once the class had left, Mrs Hudson grabbed a chair and sat down beside John.

"Are you okay John? You've been looking a little down these last two days, is it just new school nerves?"

John nodded and there was an awkward silence. Mrs Hudson spoke softly.

"What happened to your arm?"

John swallowed.

"Uh, I pulled my shoulder, playing rugby."

Mrs Hudson smiled.

"You like rugby do you? You know you could try out for the rugby team in two weeks, if your arm's better by then."

John smiled weakly and nodded.

"Yeah I might do, thanks."

He got up to leave but Mrs Hudson stopped him, patting down the pond weed on the front of his blazer.

"Look at the state of you! Teachers will have you in detention for having such a mucky blazer!"

Mrs Hudson tutted.

"What are you like? Come on, the nurse will clean you up, and have a look at that arm."

With that, Mrs Hudson guided John out the door and down the hallway. He kept his head down but still couldn't avoid Anderson's smirking face as he walked past with a teacher. John went red. Anderson would have him for that later, _teacher's pet_ he'd say. John sighed as he walked into the nurse's office, with Mrs Hudson giving him an absence note for his next lesson.

"Hello, I'm Mrs Turner."

The blonde, attractive nurse introduced herself to John.

"H… hello…"

John blushed; the nurse was only in her twenties and was wearing a very low top. John thought that being stuck with her for half an hour perhaps wouldn't be so bad after all!

John returned to Chemistry 20 minutes later and handed the note to the old teacher, who was trying in vain to keep the class quiet.

"You need to get into pairs and go to your practical work station. Put your goggles on please."

The class all moved and grabbed partners, John stood by the teacher looking around the room for a partner. He saw a mop of curly hair, skulking at the back of the room. John smiled and went over to Sherlock.

"Do you want to be my partner?"

John asked, sitting beside Sherlock. The taller boy looked over at John with a confused look.

"Um… I'm not really interested in a relationship at the moment John but I'm flattered…"

John shook his head and giggled.

"No you idiot! I mean we can go in a pair for this experiment!"

Sherlock face relaxed and he let out a small smile.

"Oh, yeah sure!"

The boys went to their work station and put on their goggles. Sherlock collected a scalpel as John stared at the experiment in front of him. They had to dissect an eyeball. It was fascinating! John and Sherlock worked together, cutting open the eye and noting down the different parts on their worksheet. Sherlock just started to get impatient with cutting it open and produced some acid from the drawer.

"It's fine John, I do experiments all the time at home."

John believed him as Sherlock plopped eyeball parts in the test tube. The boys were staring down at the dissolving mass in front of them when Sherlock spoke.

"What happened to your arm then?"

"Oh, pulled my shoulder- playing rugby."

Sherlock made a 'hmmm' noise and put another section of eyeball in the tube.

"What really happened? Whatever it is has happened a lot before; your shoulder gives you a bit of hassle doesn't it?"

John gulped. He knew he wouldn't be able to lie to Sherlock. That boy could see everything!

"It wasn't rugby… I… I'll tell you later. At lunch, we can go to that hideout of yours?"

Sherlock nodded.

"Alright, and that's a cool name for it. I've always just called it 'the pond' before, but I prefer 'the hideout'."

John smiled but then he felt a heavy hand on his shoulder which spun him around. He turned to be greeted by Anderson's ugly face, which was made even uglier by the goggles squished over his piggy eyes. Sherlock turned around next to John and they both looked up at the bully, whose focus was solely on John.

"First you're a loner, then you're hanging around with old teachers and now you've decided to pair up with the freak. You're not making very good choices in this school really are you Johnny?"

John removed his goggles and breathed deeply to calm himself.

"My name's John."

Anderson ignored him and continued speaking.

"What did you do to your arm? Did Mrs Hudson break it when she held hands with you? Did you skip along the hall together?"

Sherlock looked over at John who was beginning to go red. He decided to step in.

"Anderson, he broke his arm playing rugby. Mrs Hudson is about as strong as you are so she wouldn't be able to break anything and just because Sally is cheating on you doesn't mean you have to take it out on the new kid."

This time it was Anderson's turn to go red.

"Shut up freak. You're as bad as 'teacher's pet Johnny' here."

John clenched and un-clenched his fists to relieve the tension that was building up. He so desperately just wanted to punch Anderson square on the nose but held back when the teacher walked over.

"Have you finished your work boys?"

Anderson took a step back and pretended to write in his book. Sherlock nodded and John said "Yes Sir" as the teacher moved on to the next group. Anderson dropped his pen and stood in front of the boys again.

"You're both a pair of freaks and we don't accept freaks here."

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm not sure why they let you in this school then Anderson."

The bully seemed to snarl at Sherlock's wit.

"I'll have you for that later freak. You and your short pet are in for it."

With that the bully walked away, back to his work station ad Sherlock and John turned back to their dissolved eyeball. John smiled at Sherlock.

"That was a pretty good come-back."

Sherlock smirked.

"I don't think he got what I meant."

John giggled.

"Has he always been like that?"

Sherlock turned to John.

"Like what?"

John looked up at Sherlock.

"A bully?"

Sherlock nodded.

"He's just got some serious social anxiety issues so hides behind bravado to get over them. He's always hated me."

John frowned.

"He seems to hate me too, though I'm not sure why."

Sherlock shrugged as he picked up another eyeball, one that wasn't dissolved.

"Let's teach him a lesson then shall we? He needs one, he's stupid enough."

Sherlock turned and walked across the classroom towards Anderson's desk. John hurriedly followed him, hissing at Sherlock.

"What are you doing?"

Sherlock stopped by Anderson's desk and looked around. All of the other students were busy with their work and the bully was busy kissing Sally in the corner. Sherlock picked up Anderson's bag and opened his lunch box, placing the eyeball in the centre of Anderson's chicken salad. He replaced the box carefully and snuck back to his work station, with John following him wide eyed.

"Wh… what did you do that for!?"

Sherlock grinned as he packed away the chemistry equipment.

"He shouldn't talk to you that way. He needs a taste of his own medicine… or rather he needs the taste of an eyeball…"

John smiled and realised that Sherlock had done that for him. He had stuck up for him. No-one had stuck up for him before.

"Thanks." John said as he and Sherlock sat back down in their seats. The chemistry teacher started writing complicated things about acid and alkali balances in the eye. Sherlock turned to John.

"That's what friends are for."


	3. Fight or Flight

**Note: This Chapter contains violence and swearing. Thanks for those who are still reading! I'd really appreciate some reviews if you get time. Thanks and enjoy!**

After Chemistry, John had English. Sherlock wasn't in his English class so he sat at the back, away from everyone else. There was a girl a few rows down from him who kept glancing back and smiling shyly. John thought she might be called Millie, or Molly? Something like that; he didn't really pay much attention. He got told off for not finishing his English homework so he had to stay behind for 5 minutes but other than that, the English lesson was uneventful. Lunchtime came and John made his way to the canteen, he slumped into his usual corner seat and looked around warily. He liked sitting in the corner, he could see everything from here and he felt more in control. Amongst the mass of kids milling around and finding seats, John managed to spot some curly black hair marching through crowd. Sherlock pushed past a few smaller kids and took a seat opposite John at the table. John smiled inwardly as Sherlock frowned.

"I hate the canteen. It's so crowded, so full of stupid…"

John smiled.

"It is pretty busy. I don't like it much either."

Sherlock nodded.  
"I can tell. Corner seat, indicates anxiety."

John rolled his eyes and spoke under his breath- "Smart arse."

Sherlock raised his eyebrows in mock horror and John giggled. The moment was interrupted by a loud scream coming from the middle of the room. Everybody turned to look as Anderson stood up, flailing his arms and spitting his food everywhere. The canteen erupted into laughter as the boy waved his arms and wretched. John and Sherlock shared a look and couldn't help laughing. Eventually, Anderson stopped and the canteen went quiet, waiting for whatever would happen next. The boy was stood in the middle, looking around with death written in his eyes. They settled on John and Sherlock. The two boys realised and stood up abruptly as Anderson and his mates came storming over. John regretted picking the corner seat as they couldn't escape to anywhere and within a second were cornered by the boys. Anderson wore an expression of disgust, mixed with loathing and murder. John gulped. He was about to say something along the lines of "_it wasn't us, I promise" _when Sherlock took a step forward and spoke up.

"What do you want Anderson?"

Anderson breathed heavily and spoke with venomous words.

"This little shit thinks it's funny to put a fucking eyeball in my lunch."

Anderson pointed to John.

"I know it was him."

Sherlock frowned.

"Do you have any proof?"

Anderson's eye twitched.

"No… but I know it was him… I can see it on his face…"

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Why do you insist on picking on the new kid Anderson? Is it because he's small and defenceless he makes a worthy opponent for you?"

Anderson's face turned red and in a less threatening situation John might have laughed at Sherlock's attempt to help the situation. Anderson smirked at John.  
"You're right. He's a small, defenceless little shit."

John sighed.

"Thanks Sherlock!" He said sarcastically. That had certainly helped take the attention away from him. _Anderson now thinks I'm a small defenceless wimp. _The bully turned to face Sherlock who was smiling at John.

"Just trying to help!" Sherlock said with absolute sincerity. John shook his head and held back a laugh; Sherlock really thought he had helped! Anderson observed the exchange with ever growing disgust on his face.

"I don't like kids who hang around with freaks. I especially don't like gay ones…"

John's eyes widened.

"Oh we're not… I'm not gay…"

Sherlock looked over at John, puzzled.

"Really?"

"That's not helping Sherlock…"

Anderson smirked.

"Even the freak could see you're gay!"

John began to turn red as the crowd that had gathered began to laugh.

"I'm not… no…I'm not gay…"

John tried to protest to no-one in particular. He looked over at Sherlock with hurt, pleading eyes.

"I'm not…"

Sherlock looked worried. _Had he caused this?_ He wasn't sure but that look on John's face gave him a weird feeling- guilt? Sherlock needed to fix it. He turned to Anderson and spoke without even thinking.

"Of course he's not gay. He just likes to look smart and he didn't draw those love hearts on the backpack, it was a hand-me-down from his sister and he can't help it. If you really have a problem with John then you have a problem with me first."

Sherlock spoke with such conviction that he even shocked himself, no less the people around him, including John. Anderson sniggered.

"I've have a problem with you anyway freak. Anyway, enough chit-chat…"

With that, Anderson swung his fist at Sherlock's face who ducked just in time, causing Anderson to stumble forward. Sherlock pushed the boy into his mate and they both fell into a year 7's lunch.

"Run John!" Sherlock shouted. There was a gap which Sherlock darted between. John followed quickly as they pushed their way through the crowd and out the back door of the canteen. John dared a glance back and saw Anderson and his three friends pursuing them. Sherlock took a right out of the door and ran up the path until they reached the field and the start of the nature trail. John knew where Sherlock was trying to get to- he increased his pace. His heart was hammering on his chest, or was that his footsteps? Was it Anderson's footsteps? He heard the boy cry "kill them!" behind him but he couldn't tell how close they were. John rounded the corner of the field; it was a straight sprint up to the hideout but Anderson would see where they went. They wouldn't make it in time. John's breathing increased from panic but he calmed down when he saw Sherlock. The boy was running past the group of older boys that were there the other day. He gave them a thumbs up and as John passed, he saw the group form a wall behind him. He carried on running as fast as his legs would carry him, faintly hearing Anderson and his mates screaming "move!" to the group of boys. John ducked under the trees and jogged over the bridge, flopping down onto the bench. His chest was rising and falling so fast and his breaths were coming out raspy. Sherlock was stood by the opening of the hideout, holding a stick and a finger to his lips, telling John to keep quiet. John steadied his breathing and listened carefully. He could hear some footsteps; some swear words and confusion as to where they could have gone. Then John heard one very distinct phrase, it was Anderson's voice.

"I'll fucking murder them later…"

Then the footsteps died away and Sherlock relaxed, dropping the stick and going over to sit beside John on the bench, who was still breathing heavily.

"You ok?"

John swallowed and nodded.

"Yeah. You?"

Sherlock nodded and smiled.

"Lucky escape!"

John calmed his breathing.

"For now… You know we can't run away from them forever…"

Sherlock looked down at the floor to avoid looking into John's eyes.

"Uh… I'm sorry John. If I made the situation worse in there…"

John looked up at Sherlock, who was scuffing the floor with his toe. _Sherlock was apologising?! _John smiled.

"No worries. Thanks for helping us lose them. How come that group of boys helped?"

Sherlock returned his gaze to John's face. _Why hadn't John shouted at him? _He hadn't got angry and blamed Sherlock… In fact, he was thanking him?! Sherlock studied John's face, which was looking at him expectantly. Sherlock realised he'd been silent for a bit too long and shook his head to get his senses back.

"Um, yeah I know those boys, they buy me cigarettes."

John's eyes widened.

"You smoke?"

Sherlock frowned. John sounded disappointed and he didn't like it. Then Sherlock frowned more, _why should he care that John doesn't like it? _Sherlock nodded in response and hurriedly spoke.

"But I'm trying to quit."

John's questioning face relaxed and he leant back on the bench. Sherlock wanted the focus off himself, he usually wanted everyone to notice him but being with John Watson changed how he felt about most things. He wasn't sure why. He decided to speak instead of letting his thoughts continue to run along that line.

"So, what did actually happen to your arm then?"

John kept his gaze at the floor and spoke in a very matter-of-fact tone.

"My dad twisted my arm up my back, he tore the shoulder muscle. Again."

Sherlock swallowed.

"Your dad did that? Why?"

Sherlock assumed that John must have done something pretty bad to warrant his dad hurting him like that. Sherlock's father had never once laid a hand on him or his brother, John wiped a tear that was forming in his eye and continued to stare at the dirt.

"I…I uh… bumped into him."

John looked up at Sherlock's face which wore a horrified expression. John spoke hurriedly.

"But I did make him spill his beer… on his shirt… his work shirt and he was in a bad mood anyway because of Harry so I deserved it really…"

Sherlock couldn't help his face looking horrified. John looked back down at the floor and fiddled with a loose thread on his blazer. He wanted to stop Sherlock looking at him like that. _Sherlock was going to hate him now, he was going to tell him that he did deserve it, he is a clumsy bugger, why would anyone want to be friends with him when he's so clumsy, small and stupid?_ John was close to tears when Sherlock did something very out of character. He hugged him. John felt Sherlock's arms wrap around his shoulders gently and the boy's head rest next to his neck. John tensed up in confusion. Only his mum had ever hugged him before. Sherlock stayed there for about a minute, then slowly moved back, looking John directly in the eye.

"Listen to me. Don't you ever think that you deserve it. Never ever, ok?"

Sherlock stared at John with a sincere look. John swallowed back tears and nodded. Then he smiled. He smiled because someone cared. Sherlock Holmes actually cared about him. Sherlock looked around awkwardly, realising that he- impassive Sherlock- was showing an emotion. John giggled and stood up.

"Thanks Sherlock."

Sherlock stood up as well and smiled.

"No problem. So, did you bring the net?"

John removed his bag carefully over his strapped up arm and pulled out the small green net. He was about to hand it to Sherlock but pulled it back and spoke cheekily.

"You better appreciate the trouble I went through to get this... I nearly lost my arm!"

Sherlock smiled, glad that John was starting to make a joke of what happened. He didn't want to watch his friend's guilt tear him apart. John was anti-social enough as it is. Sherlock took the net off John and crouched beside the pond.

"Have you ever caught newts before?"

John shook his head,

"I've never even seen a newt before!"

"Well, watch and learn my friend."

The boys stayed at the hideout, catching newts and having a laugh until the end of lunch. A bad feeling settled in both their stomachs as they knew they had to go back into school, back into lessons and back to where Anderson would find them. The boys walked back down the nature trail in silence, nervous of what was to come. Sherlock looked over at John, who was biting his lip. Sherlock extended his hand and John took it. The boys walked the rest of the way hand in hand; that one small gesture comforted them both and as they reached the door and parted separate ways, it gave them comfort and told them they were not alone.

John's last lesson of the day was French, which he found extremely dull and difficult, especially since he didn't share that lesson with Sherlock and couldn't copy his answers. John shouldered his backpack and walked out of the classroom and out to the school gates. He stood by the wall, searching the crowd for the curly black hair but couldn't see any. He waited for 5 minutes, looking carefully but not once did he catch a glimpse of Sherlock. John sighed and gave up, _Sherlock probably gets a lift from his parents, he's probably already gone. _John pushed himself off the wall and began to trudge home. The twenty minute walk wasn't that bad, it was fairly straight forward but it was November, and it was beginning to get dark. John walked along the road with his head down, thinking about Sherlock and how much more fun the walk would have been with him. John thought about Harry and his dad and what to expect when he got in. He thought about tomorrow and what lessons he had with Sherlock. John was pulled put of his train of thought when he heard voices behind him. His head came up but he continued to walk forward, listening intently to the voices. No-one else was on the road and only the odd car rushed past every minute or so. He could hear that they were boys. He quickened his pace and dared a glance over his shoulder. That was his mistake. Turning around, John saw what he feared most. Anderson was walking quickly towards him with three of his mates in tow. John stumbled backwards, ready to run when Anderson called out to him.

"Hey, Johnny boy! Don't run, I just want to talk!"

John stopped where he was. _I should run, I should've ran. _It was too late now. Anderson was in front of him and his mates had made a tight circle around him.

"Where's your freaky buddy?"

Anderson stood in front of John, smirking. His mates laughed and stood still around John. They were all at least a head taller than him and wore hard, threatening faces. John swallowed.

"He… he's gone home."

John tried to sound normal, but instead his voice quivered and Anderson laughed.

"Awh is little Johnny a little bit scared?"

John stared at Anderson directly in the eye, in an attempt to hide his fear. His heart was beating out through his chest and his left arm was shaking. Anderson nodded to one of his mates, who grabbed John's good arm and pulled him to the side of the road and down a small alley. The alley was blocked off at the end by a large wall and there was a rubbish bin on the left; the boy dragged John further in, grabbed his backpack and chucked it to the side and then pushed him against the wall. The light coming from the street faded as Anderson and his three mates blocked the entrance. John pressed up against the wall, willing for it just to swallow him up. The wall was hard and cold against his back. He wished he wasn't here alone. He wished he had Sherlock here with him. He felt braver with Sherlock around. He also wished his right arm wasn't injured, at least then he could have put up a fair fight. All sorts of scenarios flicked through John's head as Anderson approached. _I could just let it happen, ride it out. Or I could try and fight back, it won't work. God I wish Sherlock was here. _John saw Anderson crack his knuckles and the bully stopped in front of him.

"It's a shame the freak isn't here. Would've been two birds with one stone. Time to teach the little shit a lesson…"

John decided in that moment he couldn't just let it happen. This kid would never stop tormenting him, he'd go for Sherlock too and a weird feeling erupted in John. He wasn't going to let anything happen to Sherlock, he couldn't. He had to fight back.

John flinched as the first punch hit his cheek; he stumbled to the side and blinked furiously to stop the swaying. John turned and swung his left arm around in the general direction of Anderson. He connected with something because he heard the boy shout, but then was quickly disabled by one of Anderson's mates; a kick to the back of his left leg had him on his knees and he doubled over as the boot drove into his stomach. His right arm had fallen out of the sling and the muscle was beginning to burn. John looked up in time to see Anderson, with a bloody nose, raise his fist and bring it down onto John's head. His left temple throbbed as he stood up fast, driving his own fist into Anderson's stomach, the boy bent over but with a cry like an animal he quickly charged his body into John's so he was pressed up against the wall. Two of the others were next to him, grabbing at John's arms and pulling them up behind his back. John screamed and his muscle burned as he tried to struggle out of their grip. Anderson was up again and punched John square on the nose, his head flopped to the side and he gasped for air as Anderson's fists drove into his stomach more than once. John's body slumped; the boys released their grip on his arms and John fell to the floor, feeling a boot connect to his ribs with a sickening crack. He curled up and lifted his hands over his face. There seemed to be blood everywhere, he could taste metallic in his mouth, feel it dripping from his nose and down his head. His insides felt like liquid as multiple boots that felt like iron pummelled down onto his legs, body, stomach and head. John screwed up his face and felt something dripping out of his eyes. Tears? Blood? The boots weren't stopping, the fists kept coming. Every time he tried to take a breath another hit landed and released all the air inside of him. He was trying to cough but there was no air to do it. He needed air; he needed the iron weight to be lifted off his chest. And then suddenly, it stopped. Silence. A wave of nausea consumed John's body and then a chest wracking bought of coughing. He rolled over onto his knees with his forehead on the floor. John's whole body rocked violently with every cough and red liquid saturated the pavement as it dripped out of his mouth. The coughing slowed down and his breaths were raspy. His whole body moaned as he was lifted off the floor to stand. His weight was supported by two of the boys, his arms were grabbed and his hair was pulled back so his chin lifted from his chest. His legs were useless and gave him no support. Through bleary eyes, John could see Anderson's bloodied face smirking at him. Over the ringing in his ears, John heard Anderson speak.

"Enough of a lesson for you Johnny boy? That's not half of what we can do if you decide to cross us again. Stay away from the freak or…"

Anderson stopped mid sentence when John spat into his face. _How dare he call Sherlock a freak? How dare he even involve Sherlock? This was his fight._ The bully wiped blood and spit from his eyes and grinned a sinister grin.

"Not sure he's learnt his lesson lads…"

John forced a smile and spoke hoarsely.

"I've learnt that you're a bastard."

Anderson sniggered menacingly and punched John in the stomach, causing his ribs to throb in pain. His whole body was throbbing and burning. John coughed up blood and looked back up at Anderson. The bully was talking to one of the boys holding John.

"Michael, did you bring the rope?"

John felt his left arm be passed over to the other boy as Michael moved next to Anderson, holding the rope.

"Tie his arms."

John struggled as Michael pulled the rope tightly around his wrists, cutting into them. Anderson paced the width of the alley.

"Are you scared of the dark Johnny? Shame if you are. I've heard dustbins can be pitch black if the lid is closed."

John pulled his arms to get them free but the rope was digging in and the boy's grip was sure to be leaving bruising. Anderson smirked and nodded to the boy, who started leading John towards the dustbin. The other boy's lifted the lid as John twisted and pulled to get free. It was hurting his body to twist but he had to get free, he hated the dark and he hated small spaces. He _really _hated small spaces. Two of the boys grabbed John's arms and started to lift him up, his legs came up off the floor and he swung them forwards, hitting one of the boys in the stomach. They released their grip and John fell to the floor. He picked himself up and managed to kick the other boy in the shin before he felt a fist smash against his head and he was lying on the floor once more. His head was spinning and the ringing noise was so loud. The whole world was moving, fading between black and red. He could hear voices, they were raised. He felt himself be lifted and dropped, pointy objects dug uncomfortably into his back and a loud bang brought darkness. The voices were muffled now but he heard a commotion. There was some shouting and a few bump noises and groans. _Were they fighting each other? _John's head still spun, he heard different voices now, threatening. He heard Anderson say "let's go" and then heard fast footsteps fade away. The darkness was lifted and he felt soft hands lifting him once more. It felt like a dream, a surreal dream. The hands brought him out and gently laid him on the ground, untying the rope on his wrists carefully. John's eyes drooped and he wondered whether Anderson had changed his mind. _But those didn't feel like Anderson's hands. _They were far too soft and gentle. He felt his legs and arms be lifted and his head dropped against the person's chest. He could feel their heartbeat and he could feel the sticky blood on his head sticking to their shirt. His head spun some more and he felt himself slipping away from the noises of the street, the cars, the heartbeat and the world. He let his eyes close slowly and let it bring a fresh wave of comforting darkness, until it let him drift into a soft and calm sleep.


	4. The Holmes

**Author's Note: Thanks for still reading, special thanks to my one reviewer! Reviews help give me inspiration to continue!**

Sherlock's last lesson was French, but he was in a different class to John. That made the lesson very dull and Sherlock decided to pass the time by deducing everyone in the room, twice, because he did it so quickly the first time. Eventually the class was dismissed and Sherlock left to go and meet John by the bike racks. He turned the corner and was ready to smile at John but instead scowled when he saw his older brother.

"Ah, Sherlock. Finally. Did you forget how to walk with speed?"

Sherlock crossed his arms casually.

"You've only been waiting for five minutes, Mycroft. Is the extra weight you gained this week too heavy?"

His older brother frowned and turned away. Mycroft was in the Sixth Form, four years above Sherlock. He was allowed to wear his own clothes instead of uniform, as long as they were smart and he was allowed to drive to school, privileges only the older students were allowed. Mycroft lifted his umbrella and poked Sherlock's arm with the tip.

"Let's go, I need to give Greg a lift home."

Sherlock looked up at Greg; he wasn't as tall as Mycroft and was stood there, fidgeting. He smiled awkwardly and held his hand out towards Sherlock.

"Greg Lestrade, pleasure to meet you."

Sherlock shook his hand and forced a fake smile.

"Likewise."

He quickly turned away and scanned the crowd for John; _he should be here by now._

Sherlock stayed put as Mycroft poked him again.

"Let's go."

"I need to wait for John; we're going to walk home together."

Mycroft raised his eyebrows, then his face turned to annoyance.

"So I didn't even need to wait here for you after all? For goodness sake Sherlock…"

Mycroft turned to leave.

"Wait."

The older Holmes turned back to his younger brother.

"Why, I thought you were waiting for John?"

"He's not here yet, I might still need a lift if he doesn't turn up."

Mycroft sighed. He couldn't just leave his younger brother there. Mother had always told him to never let Sherlock walk home alone. He huffed and leant against one of the bike racks.

"We wait five more minutes, if he's not here by then we're leaving."

Sherlock nodded, and continued to scan the crowd but he couldn't see John anywhere. _He must be waiting somewhere else. _Sherlock took off and walked towards the school gates. Mycroft tried to call out to stop him but instead just groaned and followed. Sherlock checked the gates, the wall and the field but John wasn't there, no-one was really around now, just a few kids were leaving having obviously been kept behind in detention.

"Sherlock, he's not here. Let's go."

Sherlock frowned. He was worried. John must have walked home.

"Mycroft, we need to stop off at John's house, to check he got home safely."

Mycroft rolled his eyes.

"Why wouldn't he have got home safely?"

Sherlock pursed his lips.

"I sort of… got him in a bit of trouble with some lads…"

Mycroft tutted. As inhuman as he tried to be, the older Holmes couldn't refuse his younger brother's first act of affection.

"What's the address?"

"His name's John Watson. You know the file of everyone in the school Mycroft."

Mycroft took a few seconds then smiled.

"43 Harriers Park. Sorry Greg, do you mind?"

The other boy shook his head.

"No problem."

He smiled as they got into Mycroft's gleaming black Rolls Royce. The journey was only ten minutes, but Sherlock fidgeted the whole way, peering out of the window intently. The sky was beginning to go dark and street lamps flickered on. Harriers Park was a very run down road, with litter on the streets and about five boarded up houses. 43 was just as bad, with an unkempt lawn and roof tiles that were hanging off. Sherlock was out of the car before it had even stopped and was up the steps to knock on the door. A tall, well built man opened the door an inch, peering down at Sherlock on the step. The boy could smell alcohol and took a hesitant step backwards, clearing his throat.

"I was wondering if John Watson was in?"

The man looked Sherlock up and down.

"Who are you?"

The man's voice was harsh and raspy. Sherlock knew this was John's dad and wondered how the man could be so horrible when John was so nice.

"I'm Sherlock Holmes, a friend of John's. Is he in sir?"

John's dad opened the door a fraction more.

"Nah, he 'aint here. If you see the faggot, tell him he's in for a bollocking when he gets here. He didn't get me any more beer."

The man slammed the door and Sherlock walked slowly down the steps. _Why wasn't John home yet? _A panicky feeling rose in Sherlock's stomach as he slipped back into the car.

"Was he in?"

Mycroft looked over his shoulder into the back seat where Sherlock was.

"He's not home yet. We need to retrace the route he takes to get home."

Mycroft sighed and considered giving up and going home, but one look at his brother's face told him he couldn't. Sherlock looked anxious; it was an expression Mycroft had never seen on his brother before and although he pretended to not care, he didn't like his brother looking like that.

"Fine, let's go."

Mycroft drove slowly along the streets; Greg was peering out of one window while Sherlock was practically leaning out of the other. After four minutes there was still no sign of John and Sherlock's leg began to shake up and down rhythmically.

"There! Stop!"

Mycroft pulled over and looked around for what his younger brother had spotted. Sherlock was looking at a boy, in their uniform, stood awkwardly outside a dark alley. Sherlock recognised him as Pete, one of Anderson's mates. Sherlock squinted to see down the alley and could make out the shadows of four people. That tall one was definitely Anderson and… Sherlock's breath hitched as he saw John, being lifted into a bin. Sherlock didn't need anymore time to think. He was out of the car like a rocket and past Pete. Mycroft and Greg called after him, making their way out of the car to follow. Sherlock ran into the alley like an enraged bull and swung his fist to meet Anderson's face. The bully fell to the floor as Sherlock screamed and punched Pete, who had come running in. Sherlock turned but stumbled backwards when Michael hit the side of his head. He threw himself forward and pinned Michael against the wall but Sherlock was pulled backwards and bent over double as Anderson hit him in the stomach. Sherlock didn't stop screaming as he was restrained. Anderson looked ready for murder but stopped his advancing fist when he heard a different voice.

"I wouldn't if I were you."

Mycroft stood calmly in the opening of the alley with Greg, twisting his umbrella. Anderson's face flushed red.

"What you gonna do about it?"

Mycroft took a step forward to put himself between the bully and his brother, who was breathing heavily.

"Well, Phillip Anderson. I know that your father works in criminal forensics and your mother is a teacher. I'm sure if they were to find out what you've been up to they wouldn't be best pleased."

Anderson's fist was lowering slowly. Greg stood beside Mycroft.

"And my dad's a policeman, who works with your dad. I'm sure he'd have a lot to say about it…"

Anderson swallowed weakly. He nodded to his mates, who let go of Sherlock's arms.

"Let's go."

Anderson kept his head down as he passed Mycroft and hurriedly walked out of the alley. The boys hadn't fully left before Sherlock was in the dustbin, pulling John out. His breath caught as he lifted John into the light. His face had blood all over it and his eyes were closed and bruised. There was a cut to his temple that was still bleeding and his wrists were red from the rope. Sherlock gently placed him on the floor and he carefully removed the ropes. Mycroft and Greg stood by, watching closely. Sherlock took a deep breath and lifted John, who slumped into his chest. John's unconscious weight was heavy and Sherlock struggled.

"Do you want some help?" Greg offered but Sherlock didn't reply. Instead he began to walk to the car with John's head bobbing softly against his chest.

"It'll be alright John, I'm here, I've got you. It's ok." Sherlock muttered. Mycroft helped Sherlock lay John down across the back seats.

"We should take him back to our house, Mother can clean him up. We can't take him to his house." Sherlock stated without looking up. His eyes were fixated on John's face as tears began to form in his eyes. _This was my fault. I shouldn't have provoked Anderson. I should have been there for him. It should have been me in that alley… _Sherlock's eyes didn't leave John's face the whole journey. Mycroft and Greg sat in silence, listening to Sherlock mutter encouraging words to John. Sherlock ignored the throbbing in his head, he ignored the pain in his stomach and ribs, but he couldn't ignore the pain in his chest. It was a pain he'd never felt before, his heart ached. Sherlock lifted John's hand and held it in his own.

_It was my fault, I'm sorry John._

John flickered his eyes open slowly. His head felt heavy and groggy and the light hurt his eyes. He blinked heavily and turned his head to look around. His head swam as he moved so he squeezed his eyes shut until it passed. Upon opening his eyes, he could see a very opulent but messy looking room. He could make out a periodic table on the wall and a desk full of science equipment. John lifted himself slowly and took deep breaths to get rid of the sick feeling. He propped himself up against the pillows but winced at the sharp pains that hit most of his body. John glanced around the room and looked to his right, where he saw Sherlock sat on a beanbag. His head was leaning on his shoulder and he was asleep. John smiled and looked down at himself. He was dressed in dark blue silk pyjamas that were quite big for him, his right arm was back in a sling and he could feel his head was wrapped in a bandage, causing his hair to stick out weirdly at the top. His left eye was swollen and his nose hurt. John lifted the pyjama top and inspected his stomach, which had mottled purple and black bruises over it. There was a particularly large bruise over his right lower rib and he drew in a sharp breath as he poked it, realising it was probably fractured. John lowered the top and couldn't help looking over at Sherlock, who was still sleeping peacefully. John thought how restful he looked when he was asleep, opposite to his usual manic personality. Sherlock's eyes flickered and opened slowly, John looked away to try and disguise the fact he'd been staring at Sherlock for five minutes.

"It's rude to stare you know."

Sherlock's deep voice punctuated the silence. John turned to look at him and smiled. Sherlock stood up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed.

"How are you feeling?"

John swallowed and realised how dry his mouth was, his voice came out raspy.

"Not too bad. Where am I?"

Sherlock looked around the room as if it was an obvious question.

"My room, in my house."

John nodded and took a deep breath as his head span again.

"Do you want some water?"

"Yes please."

Sherlock got his phone out and texted someone before turning his attention back to John. Sherlock coughed and John looked up at him, noticing a bruise forming under his left eye.

"What happened last night?" John asked hesitantly.

"What do you remember?"

John cast his mind back. The memories seemed blurry.

"Um, well… I remember walking home, and seeing Anderson and his mates. I remember it being really dark and having a bit of a fight. After that, nothing really."

Sherlock nodded.

"I waited for you at school, but then you weren't there, or at your house either so…"

"You went to my house?"

John looked confused and Sherlock nodded.

"Yeah, Mycroft knows the address of everyone in the school. Your dad was there, he said you hadn't come home yet, so we drove the route you walk home and saw Anderson and his mates in an alley, so we… intervened."

John took a second to process the information.

"Who's Mycroft?"

"Oh, just my older brother. And his friend Greg Lestrade helped too."

Sherlock looked down and fiddled with his thumbs as John studied his face.

"How'd you get a black eye?"

Sherlock looked up at John and faintly smiled.

"I tried to take on three guys at once; turns out learning Tai Kwon Do when you're five doesn't really help…"

John laughed and then coughed and winced at the pain in his stomach. The door opened and a tall woman walked in holding a tray. She had long black curly hair and was wearing a long blue dress.

"Oh, John. You're awake. Wonderful! How are you feeling sweetie?"

The woman put the tray on the bedside table and Sherlock moved back onto the bean bag.

"My head hurts and my nose, and… well most of me hurts really but I'm alright."

The woman nodded and passed John the glass of water and two white tablets.

"Here you go lovely, these painkillers should help. I'm Mrs Holmes, Sherlock's mother. Give me a shout if you need anything."

Mrs Holmes smiled and turned to her son.

"Keep on eye on him Sherlock. Is your head ok?"

Sherlock's mum stroked her hand down the side of her son's face who nodded quickly.

"I'm fine mother, thank you."

The woman smiled and left, closing the door softly. Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Sorry, just my mother…"

John took a sip of the water and shook his head.

"It's fine, she's lovely. Thanks for bringing me here Sherlock and looking after me…I… it wouldn't have been… if… if I'd gone home…"

John cast his eyes downwards.

"It's alright."

John took another sip of water and placed the glass back on the table.

"Sherlock… I have a question…"

Sherlock moved the beanbag closer.

"Yes?"

John avoided eye contact and look down at his lap.

"Will you answer honestly?"

Sherlock nodded and looked at John's eyes. John swallowed and looked up at Sherlock.

"Who put me in these pyjamas?"

Sherlock looked confused. John continued.

"Well… I mean I was in my school clothes and have been unconscious the whole time… I just mean…"

John changed to a whisper.

"I have different underwear on so… someone has… you know…"

Sherlock giggled and caused John to smile widely.

"It's not funny Sherlock I'm serious!"

Sherlock laughed some more and looked back at John.

"It was my mum, don't worry. She's a nurse so she's seen it all before!"

John smiled and seemed relieved. Sherlock looked confused at John.

"Why, did you think it was me?!"

John giggled and went a bit red.

"I thought it might have been! It would have been a bit awkward!"

The boys laughed and John coughed and they laughed some more. They were interrupted when Mycroft walked in.

"I heard you were awake. How are you feeling John?"

John looked up at the older Holmes and realised how much he resembled Sherlock.

"Better. Thank you for helping."

Mycroft nodded.

"No problem. We've notified the school that you both won't be in today, and I will be having words with the head teacher about Phillip Anderson and his band of idiots."

Sherlock and John smiled. Mycroft remained emotionless.

"Focus on getting better."

The older Holmes walked back out of the room and closed the door. John raised his eyebrows at Sherlock and smiled.

"Is he always that impassive?"

Sherlock nodded.

"He thinks emotion is a weakness. Anyway, we have a whole day to fill. I have the Lord of the Rings Trilogy on DVD?"


	5. Formalities

**Author's note: **_Sorry for the wait, I've been so busy… enjoy the chapter!_

Sherlock leaned across to the bedside table and switched the lights on as the TV showed the ending credits of Lord of the Rings: The Return of the King. John blinked at the brightness. It was evening; the whole day had been spent on a Lord of the Rings marathon. Sherlock had moved the TV to the bottom of the bed so John didn't have to get up. John shuffled to one side of the bed so Sherlock could squeeze in next to him under a shared blanket to see the TV.

"That was great!" John smiled enthusiastically at Sherlock who returned a grin and spoke.

"I don't like many films, but I have to say I thoroughly enjoy a bit of Orc slaying!"

Sherlock was interrupted by a knock at the door and a voice from outside.

"Are you two decent?" Mrs Holmes shouted.

Sherlock rolled his eyes.

"Yes Mother. Of course we're decent."

Mrs Holmes pushed the door open slowly and walked in, holding a tray.

"Don't be cheeky Sherlock, are you boys hungry?"

John hadn't noticed he was hungry until it was mentioned.

"Um, yes Mrs Holmes, thank you."

Sherlock's mother walked over to the bed and placed the tray across the boys' laps.

"Please, call me Violet. Mrs Holmes is too formal!"

John smiled and looked at the tray, which held two glasses of squash, and two full pork roast dinners, complete with Yorkshire puddings and apple sauce.

"Wow… thank you."

John grinned at Violet who smiled back. Sherlock had already started tucking into his dinner.

"You're very welcome Jonathan."

Sherlock snorted and almost choked on his dinner. Violet frowned at her son.

"What's funny Sherlock?"

Sherlock chewed and swallowed his mouthful between giggles.

"Just Jonathan, it's _too formal_!" Sherlock accentuated the last two words as a bit of a mickey take. Violet smiled and hit Sherlock softly on the arm with her tea towel.

"Oh stop it Sherlock! Is 'Jonathan' too formal for you dear?" Violet asked John, who smiled politely.

"No-body calls me Jonathan unless I'm in trouble!"

Violet chuckled and rolled her eyes at Sherlock, who was still giggling.

"'John' it is then! And as for you, William Sherlock Scott Holmes, you better stop giggling and eat your dinner before it gets cold!"

This was John's turn to laugh as he heard Sherlock's full name. Violet chuckled and left the room, closing the door softly behind her. Sherlock had stopped giggling and was trying not to laugh at John's laugh. His little high pitched giggle was infectious and Sherlock had to try hard to keep a straight face.

"What's funny about my name?!"

Sherlock feigned insult, which just made John giggle more. Eventually John stopped with a few coughs and a moan at the pain in his ribs.

"Oww, don't make me laugh!"

Sherlock raised his eyebrows.

"I didn't make you laugh. My name did, apparently!"

John chuckled.

"Your name's not that funny, it's just very posh!"

Sherlock smiled.

"So is Jonathan."

John smiled back and the boys tucked into their dinner. Sherlock had just started on his second Yorkshire pudding when John spoke.

"How come you don't go by William? I mean, that's your first name isn't it?"

Sherlock swallowed and made a face.

"'William' is just so… ordinary and dull. 'Sherlock' is so much fancier. Besides, I have to try and compete with the name 'Mycroft' and 'William' just wouldn't cut it!"

John smiled.

"I guess it matches your extra-ordinary intelligence level."

Sherlock grinned at John and noted how a bit of a spark was returning to John's, albeit bruised, eyes.

"You think I'm intelligent?" Sherlock asked. John nodded.

"Of course you are." John said in a very matter-of-fact way. Sherlock smiled.

"Well, thank you. Mycroft always says I'm stupid."

John stopped eating and looked over at Sherlock, confused.

"Well he must be a right idiot to not see how clever you are!"

Sherlock chuckled and they continued eating. When they finished, Sherlock moved the tray to the bedside table. The clock read 8pm; John yawned and sat up straighter.

"I should probably be going Sherlock; my parents will wonder where I am…"

John tried to swing his legs off the bed but winced at the pain in his abdomen and ribs. Sherlock put a hand on his leg to stop him.

"No, you're staying here tonight. Mycroft has already been over to your house and told your parents where you are."

John looked concerned.

"Oh… what did they say?"

"Apparently your mum answered and said it was probably better if you stayed here for a bit."

John nodded and worried about what his dad would say. Best to put it to the back of his mind for now.

"Thanks."

Sherlock's hand was still on John's thigh. He looked down at it awkwardly and removed it with a small cough. Sherlock looked away and fiddled with something on the table. John moved his legs back into the bed slowly and let out a breath when he was done.

"You can't sleep on the beanbags again Sherlock, it'll hardly be comfortable…"

Sherlock looked up and shrugged.

"Don't worry."

John shook his head.

"No, you can share the bed tonight. It's king size Sherlock; there will be enough room for your skinny body."

Sherlock smiled.

"Thanks, I best get my pyjamas on then."

John was already changed, he had been all day. Sherlock stood up and grabbed a plain blue t shirt and a pair of trousers out of a drawer; they had cartoon pirates on them. John smiled secretly to himself.

"I'll look away and close my eyes, Sherlock."

John did just that as Sherlock changed at the other side of the room, muttering 'Done' when he was finished. Sherlock shimmied under the covers next to John and rested his curls on the pillow.

"Do you sleep with the light out or on?"

John swallowed.

"Um… always on… I'm… not particularly fond of the dark…"

Sherlock nodded and decided not to ask anymore questions, as it seemed to be a sore point for John. He didn't want to imagine what made John fear the dark. He simply put his hand on John's hand and said "Ok." John closed his eyes and wondered why Sherlock's hand on his didn't feel uncomfortable. It felt safe. John quickly fell to sleep but Sherlock remained awake. He didn't sleep well with the light on, but he would keep it on for John. John's peaceful breaths relaxed Sherlock and he looked over at the calm boy. He seemed even more vulnerable and small when he was asleep. Sherlock reached over and pulled the covers up to John's chin. John moaned quietly and rolled his bandaged head to the side, dreaming about something. Sherlock made a soft 'shhh' sound and stared dreamily at John's face. Anderson would pay for hurting _his _John, for causing the nicest boy he'd ever met pain. Sherlock decided he would always be there for John from now on, that's what friends are for, isn't it?

A few days later, John was back on his feet and back at school. His arm was still in a sling and he still had to wear the stupid bandage on his head, causing his hair to tuft out at the top like a blonde pineapple. No-one called him up on it; Anderson and his mates had been excluded for a week thanks to Mycroft and John had returned to his house. His mum had fussed over him to no end; Harry hadn't even noticed and his dad…

Well, actually his dad's reaction wasn't as bad as he feared. John had walked into the living room and stood in front of the sofa, which his dad was slouched on. His gruff voice filled the room.

"What happened boy?"

John swallowed.

"I, er… got into a fight. With some lads. They, er, beat me up."

John looked down. His dad remained seated, which John knew was a good sign.

"You better have hit them back, you wuss…"

John nodded.

"I did Dad, yeah." He said, slightly ashamed that he was fulfilling his father's wishes.

"Good lad. You better toughen up boy, when you come home from the next fight you better be telling me that you killed the bastards. Am I clear?"

John swallowed and nodded.

"Yes Dad."

John had left the room, relieved that his Dad hadn't had a worse reaction. He was hoping that there wouldn't be another fight; he wouldn't be able to fulfil his Dad's wishes then. His Dad had always been disappointed in him. _"My only son is a bloody wimp. I have a queer wuss for a son."_

John had mentioned many a time that he wasn't actually Gay, often receiving a backhand to the back of his head and the reminder to _"toughen up, lad."_

Never mind, John thought.

It was Tuesday lunchtime; Sherlock and John were at the Hideout crouched down beside the pond. Sherlock was holding a Tupperware box filled with water and two Great Crested Newts who were swimming around frantically. John was studying a book about Newts and their behaviour as Sherlock was reeling off all of the facts before John could say them. Eventually they moved to the bench and sat in wonder at the Newts. Sherlock broke the silence.

"Oh, John. I meant to ask: Do you want to come over to my house tonight for dinner? We can watch a film, or play a game or something?"

John smiled but the smile disappeared as he thought about what his dad might say if he didn't come home in time.

"Um…"

Sherlock looked away sadly.

"It's ok; you don't have to if you don't want… I just…"

John shook his head quickly.

"No, I do want to. It's just… my dad…"

Sherlock looked up with concern into John's eyes.

"What about your dad?"

John looked away nervously and bit his lower lip.

"He doesn't like it if I'm late home. Not because he cares about me, but if I'm not home and he runs out of beer he'll… if I'm not home he might…"

John looked down and scuffed his feet in the gravel, suppressing a sob. Sherlock put a comforting hand on his shoulder. John took a breath and continued.

"He'll take it out on my mum… I mean, if I'm there he'll hit me and not her…"

John swallowed back tears as Sherlock pulled him into another uncharacteristic hug. He spoke with his head muffled on John's shoulder.

"Well I'd rather he didn't take it out on either of you… you'd be safe if you came round mine?"

John pulled away from the hug and stood up.

"But my mum probably wouldn't. Sometimes he's fine though…"

Sherlock stood up to face him.

"See? So it'll be ok… you can't just not do things because your dad _might _decide to drink a bit too much…"

John nodded softly.

"I guess so…"

Sherlock took John's arm and guided him back to sit on the bench.

"Look, you need a break sometimes. Come over tonight yeah?"

John took a moment and then nodded slowly.

"Ok."

Sherlock smiled, the boys returned the Newts to the pond and walked back to class. Sherlock pretended to be fine but inside he was worried about what would happen if John's dad did get mad. He couldn't think too much about it, it will be fine, it has to be.

At Sherlock's house, they boys were in a tree house at the bottom of the garden. Sherlock sat slouched on some beanbags and John was cross legged, reading a Marvel comic book.

"Who do you think would win in a fight between Iron Man and The Hulk?" John asked, munching on a jam donut.

Sherlock lifted his head slightly.  
"Hmm… well Iron Man doesn't have any real super powers… but if The Hulk suddenly wasn't angry then he'd definitely lose…"

John giggled.

"Yeah I guess. If The Hulk stayed angry though I reckon he'd win."

Sherlock nodded in agreement and rested his head back on the beanbags. John closed the comic book and peered out of the door to the tree house. It was rather a large tree house, and faced the larger Holmes residence, looking across the huge garden. The sky was a midnight blue colour and there was an orange glow form where the sun was setting. Sherlock and John had been sat, chatting and reading and enjoying each other's company for at least 2 hours. John sighed and uncrossed his legs.

"I should probably get going Sherlock. It'll take me 10 minutes to walk and it's getting dark."

Sherlock sat up and frowned.

"Do you have to go?"

John nodded.

"Sorry. I just… don't really want to be home too late… plus it's dark."

"I suppose so. Mycroft could drive you home if you want?"

John smiled.

"If he doesn't mind?"

Sherlock slid across the wooden floor to the ladder and stepped onto it.

"Of course he won't."

Sherlock made his way down the ladder and helped John climb down with one arm, as the other was still in a sling. They made their way into the house and up to Mycroft's bedroom. John was about to knock when Sherlock just opened the door. Mycroft stood up quickly from sitting on his bed.

"Sherlock, you could have knocked!"

Sherlock tilted his head to see around Mycroft.

"Oh, hello again Graham!"

The other boy smiled.

"It's actually Greg."

Mycroft walked forward and stood in front of his little brother. Sherlock smirked.

"Sitting with another boy in bed Mycroft?"

The older Holmes rolled his eyes.

"Oh please Sherlock. You can't talk; you slept in the bed with John…"

Sherlock flushed red and his face turned emotionless. John smiled shyly at Greg, who smiled politely back, ignoring the two brothers. Sherlock stepped around Mycroft and fiddled with a book that was on a desk.

"Can you give John a lift home? It's dark."

Mycroft sighed and John spoke quickly.

"Sorry, you don't have to; I said I would walk…" John said hurriedly, feeling bad for inconveniencing Mycroft. The older Holmes smiled at John.

"It's dark. Of course I will give you a lift John. Sherlock can stay here and talk to Greg."

Sherlock secretly rolled his eyes and John smiled.

"Thanks."

Mycroft led John out of the door and they heard Greg start talking about police work to Sherlock. The voices faded as John and Mycroft walked down the stairs and got into the car. The drive was quiet; John sat silently in the passenger seat until Mycroft spoke.

"So, why are you friends with Sherlock?"

John looked over at Mycroft.

"What do you mean?"

Mycroft kept his eyes fixed forward on the road.

"I mean he's not exactly an easy person to get on with. He's never had a friend before."

John looked confused.

"Really? I think he's very easy to get on with. I guess he can be a bit rude and obnoxious sometimes, but… I don't know… he's just… different."

Mycroft nodded. John continued.

"I think… behind that emotionless exterior there is something there. He does care, or at least wants to care."

"Fair enough." Mycroft said. He did wonder what attracted such a simple and nice boy like John to such a complicated soul like Sherlock. He knew he would never get a definitive answer, but he did know that John Watson was the best thing that had happened to his little brother.

"Here you are."

Mycroft pulled up in front of John's house and looked over at the smaller boy unbuckling his seatbelt.

"Thank you for the lift." John said as he got out of the car.

"Not a problem. See you soon John."

John smiled and closed the car door, walking up the steps to his house. Mycroft waited until John was inside before he pulled away.

John closed the door behind him and smelt the overwhelming stench of alcohol.

"Hello?" John said hesitantly. There was no reply. John made his way to the living room but no-one was there. There was no-one upstairs, the creaky floorboards would have given it away. His dad was definitely out; he would have been in the living room if he were in. John walked into the kitchen and gasped. He dropped his school bag and crouched to the floor. His mum was lying on the floor, not moving.

"Mum? Can you hear me?"

John brushed her hair out of her face and noted a bruise on her cheek. He leant in and put his head next to her mouth. He remembered doing first aid in primary school. He could feel the breath on his cheek and he breathed a sigh of relief.

"Thank God."

John did his best to put his mum in the recovery position with one arm; eventually he managed it and sat back, breathing heavily. He looked down at his mum's afflicted face. This was his fault. He should have been home. He should have stopped his dad. A tear rolled down John's cheek. Why did he listen to Sherlock? Of course this was going to happen, he should have said no. John sat and cried, _it should be me on the floor_. John regained his composure and wondered where his dad was. Probably the pub. _Oh God. _John swallowed apprehensively as he heard the front door open and his dad's heavy, alcohol laden footsteps walk in.

"John… I know you're here… get here now you useless piece of shit…"

**Author's note: **_Dun, dun, Duun… __I like a bit of a cliff-hanger! Please, if you get time- leave a review. It helps me see whether people are actually reading this story still!_


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